


Rewrite the Stars

by notsodarling



Series: A Million Other Things [2]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex Manes POV, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Flashbacks, Gen, Idiots in Love, M/M, References to 1x06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 04:59:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17974943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsodarling/pseuds/notsodarling
Summary: "Michael Guerin’s take on Roswell’s legends were something different, and it was much harder for Alex to ignore and brush away as fiction. The way Michael clung to the idea that there could be aliens living among them, stranded here on Earth looking for a way home - it was a sadder, yet much more realistic notion that Alex could spend hours listening to Michael talk about."Alex decides to talk to Michael, and reflects back on some of their times in high school.





	Rewrite the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this as a kinda second part to "The Terror and the Tension" but then episode 1x06 happened, and my heart was so happy and so broken all at once (#ProtectMichaelGuerin), but I already had a lot of this done, so I figured I'd just keep going, finish it as a canon divergence, and tweak it a bit to include some aspects of canon from 1x06.
> 
> I did not expect it to become this though.
> 
> Enjoy!

             It felt like too big a moment for him to be sitting alone on the couch in the cabin, the piece of mysterious artifact still clutched in his fingers. But there was something off about the glass - it had an iridescence to it - reacting and shimmering as it was handled, almost as though it was alive. For a moment, Alex wondered what the hell he was even holding, or why Jim Valenti had left it for him to find. But this was Roswell - there was a very good chance he was holding something that no one would be able to explain, but that would also mean the history that made the town famous, the legends, the myths - that some part of it all was true.

             In the same hole in the wall, he’d found a notebook, full of writing and doodles, and as Alex flipped through the pages now, he realized it was Jim Valenti’s notes about something called _Project Shepard_ and his research into the 1947 UFO crash. But there was too much information for a town sheriff to have - something wasn’t adding up. And to be honest, this whole evening had been weird, and full of things that didn't make sense. Including Kyle turning up and trying to pull one over on Alex about _legacy_.

             And wasn't that an interesting trip down memory lane, Alex openly confiding in Kyle Valenti of all people, about his father. It had, in a way, felt good to finally talk to someone else about everything that had happened to him as a kid at the hands of his father, almost freeing. Alex definitely felt lighter. Kyle hadn't been wrong about how close they'd been as kids, but Alex knew, he couldn't just up and forget everything that had happened in between. And quite frankly, it had been a relief to see that Kyle wasn't about to sweep it under the rug and forget either, that he was willing to learn from those mistakes, and become a better person because of it.

             In another life, where his father didn’t hate him, he’d probably ask about the cabin, the notebook, the glass. As it stood now, Alex continued to skim through the pages of the journal, flipping by scribbles and doodles and a circle with a crescent moon that seemed to show up _a lot_ , but what also got his attention were the symbols that looked like runic inscriptions of some sort - an actual alien language, Alex laughed to himself - the same ones that were all over the shimmering piece of glass. He shook his head at the absurdity of the entire thing - all his life he’d listened to the myths, the legends, the history, and had never bought into it. Only two people in his life had ever spoken of the UFO crash with any amount of certainty, one who would never be an option to ask, and one that Alex could not get out of his head.

             Alex had never taken anything his father had said about the 1947 UFO crash seriously - why would he when the other man was regularly demeaning him, beating him, and pushing an unbearable weight onto Alex’s shoulders as a kid. He’d roll his eyes at his father, thinking about how ridiculous it sounded - the idea that _aliens_ were living somewhere among them waiting to terrorize and destroy the human race. The entire thing sounded like a conspiracy theory out of the Grant Green’s mouth, or every Hollywood movie in existence. Sometimes Alex wondered if his father was really that delusional, saying the mythical aliens were violent while wrapping his hands around Alex's throat and slamming him into walls. If anyone was violent and incapable of compassion, it was Jesse Manes.

             Michael Guerin’s take on Roswell’s legends was something different, and it was much harder for Alex to ignore and brush away as fiction. The way Michael clung to the idea that there could be aliens living among them, stranded here on Earth looking for a way home - it was a sadder, yet much more realistic notion that Alex could spend hours listening to Michael talk about. On more than one occasion, they’d ended up in the planetarium at the museum, Michael creating entire worlds out in the galaxy, and Alex would never tire of listening to him. Other nights, they’d end up on the overlook near the turquoise mines, Michael pointing out the stars to Alex, deciding which belonged to which made up planet, and which ones the lost aliens that crash landed in 1947 had originally come from.

_\-----------------_

_“Do you really think they’re stuck here?” Alex had asked, thinking of all the things he’d heard from his father. “That they look like us?”_

_There had been a look in Michael’s eyes that night that Alex hadn’t been able to decipher. Instead of answering, Michael had reached out and taken Alex’s hand in his, as if he was scared of Alex’s reaction if he answered. They’d been, almost dancing around this thing between them for weeks, and it terrified Alex. Michael was important to him, important in a way that Liz, or Maria, or Rosa weren’t._

_“What would you do if they were? Would you try and help them? If they needed it?”_

_In all their time hanging out, Michael had never outright asked Alex these questions, and Alex had never cared one way or another - he wasn’t sure he believed there were aliens here in Roswell (or anywhere else on the planet, for that matter). But he liked hearing Michael talk about them, he liked listening to the stories Michael told. And if it made Michael happy, Alex would believe in that for him. But this time, the question felt different - they felt different._

_“Are they like the ones in your stories?” Alex asked carefully, his fingers lightly dancing over Michael’s outstretched palm, scared he'd be too much and spook Michael._

_“Yes,” Michael’s reply had been so quiet, Alex had been afraid he’d missed it. But then he’d looked up, and saw how Michael was looking at him, watching him, and Alex knew in that moment that Michael Guerin was serious. He thought of all the crap he’d gone through, with his dad, with the kids at school, of all the things Michael had been through with the numerous foster homes he’d been bounced around between since he was a child, and realized the answer was quite simple._

_“Of course.”_

_It was the odd night where the planetarium was empty except for them, their heads occasionally turned toward the other as they talked without worrying about other people hearing them. But neither of them had looked away from the other in a while, and Alex didn’t want to. He’d felt Michael drop his hand, and but not move from where he lay, and Alex wondered if he'd missed something._

_Everyone at school had known Alex was gay, he wore it like armor in his clothes, in his painted black nails, and how he refused to back down from anyone. It was the only way he knew how to get under his father's skin, even if it meant the beatings at home paralleled the taunting he had to hear at school. Getting out of Roswell had been the goal for after high school, being able to give his father the middle finger and go his own way._

_But Michael's eyes were still on him, and Alex doesn't want to look away, but he doesn't know if he can handle more rejection like the last time, days ago, when Alex had tried to kiss Michael when they were out by the mines. So he doesn't move at all, praying to a god he doesn't believe in, hoping that maybe this thing isn't one-sided._

_It's then, as Alex has a slight internal freak out about being rejected again, that Michael Guerin pushes forward and kisses him._

  _\-----------------_

          The memory of that night faded, and Alex found himself staring back down at the journal and the alien artifact, much more certain now of what he was in possession of, and who may have the answers. Or, at the very least, would be able to help him figure out what exactly Jim Valenti had been up to before he died. Alex closed the journal, and took out his cell phone, opening his contacts to that one person Alex couldn’t stop thinking about. He wasn’t sure he had any right to ask Michael Guerin for help after what he’d said at the drive in, but he figured it couldn’t hurt - and given Michael’s fascination with the Roswell legends and the UFO crash, this was certainly right up his alley.

                    [To Michael]: Can we talk?

                    [From Michael]: Now?

                    [To Michael]: Now.

            It wasn’t until he was halfway to the junkyard that Alex realized he had no idea how to even broach this subject with Michael. It’d been years since he’d heard tales of lost aliens assimilating into human society, hoping to never be found out, trying to make Earth their home instead - it was entirely possible Michael himself had grown out of believing it. Letting his mind wander, Alex thought to their recent interactions, trying to figure out if there had perhaps been something he’d missed, or overlooked.

            Truth be told, it seemed things had been off ever since he got back to town - which coincidentally was not much earlier than when Liz had showed up for the anniversary of Rosa’s death. First with the shooting at the diner, though Alex had heard through the grapevine that the harassment was actually a regular occurrence - something that angered him, but wasn’t at all surprising. Their small town was full of small minded people - he’d been on the receiving end of that small mindedness enough as a teenager to know.

            Michael was too smart to have stayed in Roswell of his own volition - Alex knew he was missing something there. He remembered Liz had gone on and on about having been outscored on their AP exams - a definite sore spot, especially coming from someone who was now a biomedical engineer. It had shocked him initially, to see that Michael was still in Roswell, and that of all things he was working as a mechanic, and living in an old Airstream on Foster Homestead Ranch, driving the same old pick up he'd had senior year of high school. It was very unlike the Michael he’d left behind ten years ago, the one who was smart enough to get a full-ride to college and change the world.

            But he'd watched over the years, every time he was back home on leave, the changes in Michael. Their last interaction before his last deployment had been the worst, and even now Alex hates to think about what they'd said to each other. Even from the beginning, when they'd still been hopeful and optimistic, Alex felt like Michael had been pulling away, so he started believing that maybe it was his own fault, that Michael did blame him for everything. What else could he do when Michael wouldn't talk to him?

            As much as he didn’t want to think about their interactions at the drive-in, Alex thought back to what Michael had said, about how he hated Mars Attacks!, chalking it up to residual left over from those same childhood fantasies about aliens. There had been the traces of P2P around the Airstream, something he remembered Michael hand-waving off as incorrect, and his engineers insisting they were right - something that still bugged Alex. He hadn’t truly believed Michael was cooking meth, and cringed at the idea that he’d even suggested it, glad that Michael hadn’t ever brought it up again. But it was the smaller comments recently, particularly the one about Foster Homestead Ranch being a historical site that made Alex rethink things. Why had Michael seemed so attached to that place?

           Michael’s truck is parked outside the Airstream at the junkyard, and there’s a fire going in the pit, but Alex doesn’t see the other man anywhere. He parks his truck, and grabs the bag he’s stashed the glass and journal in, making his way over to the lawn chairs, and falling into one facing the door to the Airstream. This isn’t going to an easy conversation no matter what, and he’d rather not do it in the enclosed space of the Airstream, no matter what Alex had told Michael at the drive-in.

           When the door of the Airstream creaks open, and Michael walks out, Alex takes a moment to watch him - they’re alone and he doesn’t get many chances to just _see_ Michael without the worry of anyone else around. He looks tired, there’s something in his eyes that Alex can’t read until he notices him sitting there, and there’s a shift, so subtle it’s probably unrecognizable to anyone else, but Alex feels like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

           Alex waits until Michael is sitting in one of the lawn chairs, not surprised by the beer in his hand. In fact, there’s a part of Alex that thinks he might want one in order to get through this conversation - liquid courage and all - but he's going to have to drive back to the cabin after this, and a clear head is probably for the best anyway.

           “You wanted to talk?”

           Blunt. Direct. Alex knows he deserves it.

           “When we were kids, you used to tell me these stories about the UFO crash,” Alex begins, reaching down and opening up the messenger bag he’d dropped on the ground near his feet. “You’d come up with these fantastic stories about aliens crash landing here, assimilating into society, and living among us because they didn’t have any other choice.”

           “What made you think of all that?”

           “Because,” Alex says as he reaches into the bag and pulls out the glass. “I found this hidden in my cabin - the cabin Jim Valenti left to me.”

           Michael doesn’t immediately reply, and Alex quickly glances up to gauge his reaction - but that’s almost impossible. There’s tension in Michael’s body, he’s still staring at Alex the same way he always does, but there’s no indication that Michael is planning on turning to his sarcastic defense mechanism that Alex has become familiar with as of late.

           “And I was hoping,” Alex continues. “That you’d be able to help me figure out what the hell it is.”

           “Valenti?” Michael asks, his gaze shifting down to the artifact in Alex’s hands. “Sheriff Valenti?”

           Alex nods. “If it is part of the crash, I don’t know why he’d have it - not really something a town sheriff would be in possession of. But the Valentis have been here since before the crash - it’s possible it's been passed down. Though I’m positive Jim Valenti meant for me to find it.”

           “What makes you say that?”

           “Let’s just say, it wasn’t exactly sitting out in the open.” Michael rolls his eyes, and Alex can’t say he blames him. But they’re still tiptoeing around the more important part, and the reason Alex is even here. “So I guess I want to know if there’s more to those stories you used to tell me when we were kids.”

           Michael doesn’t reply right away, instead letting the silence sit heavy between them as he regards Alex, finishing off his beer before tossing the empty bottle in the direction of what Alex assumes is a trash bin, the noise of the crash of glass reverberating through the night air. It’s only then that Alex watches Michael take a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he’s going to say next, then pushes himself up and out of his chair, retreating back into the Airstream. He’s not even gone long enough for the door to shut, something clutched in his hand. The darkness makes it hard to see, and Alex watches as Michael grabs a lawn chair and moves it closer to where Alex is sitting, dropping down into it, and holding out-

           “They are pieces of the spaceship that crashed here in 1947,” Michael finally says as Alex takes the offered piece of glass - it’s flatter, but holds the same iridescence as the one already lying on his lap, the same runic language lighting up at contact. “The ship that brought me, Max, and Isobel here.”

           Alex pauses, not quite sure if he heard Michael correct.

           “What?”

           “The three of us are from somewhere out there,” Michael replies, waving his hand up toward the night sky as if he needs to illustrate his point, and Alex can’t help but stare as he processes everything. Because it’s not that he cares, but that everything he’s said, everything Michael has told him, suddenly there are entire conversations and interactions Alex feels he needs to revisit in a whole new light. But Alex knows that it _doesn’t matter_ , and that realization should probably freak him out on some level, but it doesn’t. He’s known Michael for too long, this isn’t going to change this thing between them. Well, if Alex can ever get his shit together and stop pushing Michael away. “We’re the little green men everyone is obsessed with.”

_Oh._

           “It’d be easier to show you, but that requires a visit out to the turquoise mines,” Michael continues, and Alex nods, understanding. It’s been years since he’s been out there, though he’s not quite sure how he’d fare these days with his prosthetic.

           “Okay, save that for another time.”

           “Really, Manes?” Michael scoffs, but there's a smile on his face, even if it doesn't reach his eyes. And if there’s some underlying innuendo from back when they were in high school, neither of them say anything, but Alex knows it would be interesting for the two of them to visit that lookout spot they used to go to.

           “Part of me wishes you’d trusted to tell me sooner,” Alex says, because he does. He wishes he’d known sooner, maybe figured it out, instead of assuming that his father was a sadistic, homophobic, nutcase with conspiracy theories, and Michael was just trying to make up for his horrible foster care situation. “But I understand.”

           “It was never just my secret to tell,” Michael clarifies, and Alex can only nod, already knowing and understanding that’s the reason. The entire time he’s known Michael, he’s also known Max and Isobel Evans. He’s never fully understood the almost codependency the three have on each other, but it all makes a lot more sense now.

           Alex can’t stop his gaze from falling to Michael's left hand, to the mottled skin, and bones that were broken and never properly healed. He'd wondered why it never healed properly, why Michael never went to a doctor - chalked it up to Michael's situation with the foster care system, and being homeless. The memory of that day remains one of the happiest in Alex's life, as well as the worst. There had certainly been days he'd tried to, but the idea of not remembering how Michael had made him feel, the way they'd both been shy and timid, while also laughing and unable to stop touching one another - Alex couldn't do that, he never wanted to forget that.

            “I never blamed you for this,” Michael finally says, realizing where Alex's eyes have landed, and lifting his hand up. “I've told you that.”

            He has, and Alex knows, but that guilt is never truly going to ever go away. The conversation has shifted toward something else, something Alex hadn't wanted to deal with tonight. He's tired, his leg hurts, but there are still so many questions he has, and it's getting late.

           “Does anyone else know?”

           Alex doesn't miss the way Michael rolls his eyes, and runs his hand through his hair - too much nervous energy radiating off him. “Liz.”

           “Max really didn't waste any time, did he?” Alex says, laughing. It's only been a couple weeks since Liz rolled back into town for the anniversary of Rosa's death, but it feels like a lot has happened since then. He thinks back to high school, and the sad puppy eyes Max had constantly made at Liz - Alex had, for a while, been almost envious, wishing someone, someday would look at him that way. Before he realized Michael had been doing it all along. “The shooting at the Crashdown?”

           Michael doesn't say anything, but there's a slight tilt to his head, not quite enough to be a nod, and Alex knows he's right.

           “Max said he couldn't let her die, and I've been thinking about that a lot lately. Because both of them just keep throwing it back at me that I've never done anything for anyone, because I never told them about that night, _about us_ , but Iz keeps pressing about it, and I don't know, Alex, I want to be able to tell them that yeah, there is someone I would do anything for, just like Max did. I want to say that I've had to live with that reminder every day for the past ten years. My head hasn't been quiet since that night until-”

           Michael stops himself, and Alex feels like his entire world is turning upside down. He knew the moment the hammer hit flesh and bone what it had meant, and to this day he's never quite been able to get the sound out of his head. The days that followed afterward had been just as painful - Alex at the mercy of his father, and Michael distant.

  _\-----------------_

_Alex knows he doesn't have much time, the Sergeant Master telling him he's all but on house arrest except for school, the tool shed no longer an option. He watches, defeated, as his father tears through his bedroom, ripping down posters, and tossing clothes into piles on the floor - Alex knows what's coming. Frankly, he's surprised it didn't happen sooner. When it's all said and done, Alex is left with bare walls, and fresh bruises on his skin._

_The first thing Alex does when he gets to school on Monday is search - he needs to find Michael. School has never been a safe place in his mind, not really. Not with the likes of Kyle Valenti deciding that taunting and name-calling somehow made him more of a man. But now, it's all Alex has._

_He spots the Evans twins first. Neither of them look like themselves - Max more than Isobel - but Alex pushes the thought aside. There's more chatter in the air than usual too, gossip that Alex really doesn't care about most likely, so he ignores it. He can't even text Liz or Maria, his phone being one of the first things his father confiscated._

_“Where's Guerin?”_

_Alex doesn't miss the glare Isobel sends his way, as if he's just asked an offending question before walking away from them, something Alex is grateful for._

_“I thought he was-” Max starts and stops, a frown forming on his face as he takes in Alex's outfit - it's nothing like what anyone is used to and Alex knows those questions are coming - and Alex wonders what he was going to say. “Do you know what happened to his hand?”_

_Alex freezes._

_It's obvious that Max notices the shift in Alex's body language, because he doesn't ask again. Instead, Max glances around, as if making sure no one can overhear, before glancing back at Alex, a look written on his face like he's worked out some puzzle, and Alex is suddenly terrified of what that means. Two days ago, he wouldn't have cared who knew what he felt for Michael. Two days ago he was ready to all but shout it from the rooftops._

_Now all Alex wants to do is make sure Michael is okay._

_“Check that spot behind the bleachers where he usually parks the truck, and lemme know if you still can't find him.” Max runs his hand over his face, like he's thinking up worst case scenarios in his head. And honestly, Alex can relate - it's all that's occupied his mind since Saturday night._

_Alex finds Michael there, his hand cradled to his chest, the wrappings looking as though they were done in a hurry. The scene breaks his heart, even more than he thought was possible. Michael looks devastated, and Alex knows he can't actually feel Michael's pain, but in that moment, staring at him before he's noticed, Alex wonders if this is what it feels like to care about someone so much you'd do anything for them, including trying to take away their pain._

_Alex doesn't say anything as he approaches the truck, not even flinching when the homeroom bells goes off in the distance. He just watches as Michael stares off in the direction of the school, unfocused and lost. Alex has been aware of, and has watched Michael's movements for too long now not to know when he's actually deep in thought. This is not one of those times._

_“I am so, so sorry,” Alex whispers, because everything hurts, and for that afternoon they’d been so happy, so content just to be in each other’s presence that way, and he wishes that in another lifetime, they could have continued on being happy, instead of this shit they're now dealing with. He can't help it when the tears form in his eyes, can't stop them as they fall down his cheeks. Alex carefully climbs up on the truck bed and slides next to Michael, taking care not to jostle the injured hand._

_Michael doesn't say anything, and Alex hates himself. So he does the only thing he can think of, and carefully shifts his body so he's sitting facing Michael, reaching out and taking the injured hand, so he can remove the soiled bandages. From his messenger bag, Alex removes the first aid kit he'd snuck out of the house - one of the only good things about a military family, be prepared for anything - and starts carefully cleaning the blood stained skin. It's obvious the bones are broken and crushed, so Alex tries as carefully and delicately as possible to wrap a new bandage around it. Michael is silent the entire time, unnerving Alex because in the entire time they've known each other Michael has always been moving, talking, fidgeting - this Michael is broken in more ways than one._

_“It's not your fault,” Michael finally says quietly, refusing to meet Alex's gaze._

_Alex doesn't want to argue right now, but he knows, he can feel it in his bones, that it is his fault. If he hadn't offered up that safe space, hadn't let himself fall fast and hard, if he'd just stayed away instead - but thinking about not having Michael in his life, not having kissed him, been able to touch him, is unfathomable now that he knows. Resting Michael's hand on his lap, Alex reaches up and takes Michael's face in his hands, gently rubbing away tears, and pushing up Michael's head just enough to look him in the eye. There's still a tiny sliver of that way Michael always looks at him, pushing past this massive hurt, and Alex clings to it. Slowly, Alex leans forward and presses his lips to Michael's - it's the chastest kiss they've exchanged, but Alex is at a loss for how to deal with this. They're seventeen and at the mercy of forces beyond their control._

  _\-----------------_

           “But you’ve gotta stop this,” Michael says, the hurt evident in his voice, and he’s still not looking at Alex when he speaks.

           Alex nods, knowing what Michael means. The reunion, the many nights Alex had showed up at the Airstream, only to slip out before Michael woke up, the incident at the drive-in. It’s inevitable one of them will break, if not both of them, if they don’t start trying to work past all the shit from the past ten years. Alex just doesn’t know if he wants to do it alone, despite all the things he has to atone for in regards to Michael. There’s so much history to sift through, so much time they’ve been apart, growing up and changing into people who aren’t as familiar with each other as they once were.

            “What do you mean, Max couldn't let Liz die? She's fine, no one got-” Alex goes back to what Michael has said, because now something really isn't making sense, like there's a missing piece to the puzzle that Alex hasn't been privy to. And perhaps that’s what he needs, these missing pieces before he can start understanding the bigger picture.

            “Christ, Manes.” Michael's not angry, but Alex watches as he rolls his head back and stares up into the night sky for a moment. “We've all got these, these abilities. And that's Max's.”

             Alex doesn't say the words on the tip of his tongue, the sarcastic reply he wants to share about Max and his pining because now he thinks, he and Michael aren't much better. But Michael has piqued his curiosity, and they're already talking about UFOs and aliens, so why not. Alex presses onward and hopes that Michael doesn't shut down on him.

            “What about you and Isobel?”

            And there's that look again, like Michael is debating the best way to answer instead of just trusting that Alex won't react poorly.

            “Telekinesis isn't nearly as exciting as healing people,” Michael answers dismissively, but Alex doesn’t press - they can discuss that later. “And Isobel-”

             Michael stops himself and doesn’t finish his sentence, like suddenly he’s shutting down again, and Alex wonders what could possibly be wrong with whatever Isobel’s abilities are that he won’t keep going. But really he should have seen it coming from the sarcasm that preceded it.

            “Listen,” Michael starts again, running his hands through his hair, the frustration evident all over his face, and in the way he’s holding himself. “Iz is asleep inside, and I’m already exhausted from today.”

            No such luck then, Alex thinks. It’s fine, they’re both tired, and it’s rapidly approaching midnight. Alex wonders if they’ll continue this tomorrow, or if like in the days that followed after the drive-in, they’ll just let things sit and fester while both of them choose to ignore the bigger problem between them instead of confronting it head on.

            “She okay?” Alex asks, instead, ignoring the ever present panic that appears every time he thinks about someone knowing about the two of them, of Michael getting hurt again because of him. He knows it’s ridiculous now, they’re both older, and more than capable of defending themselves, but that kind of pain and trauma never truly leaves a person.

            “I don’t know,” Michael replies, and that surprises Alex because it’s so honest and raw - much more like the Michael he knows, not the Michael he met upon his return to Roswell with sarcasm and bravado.

            Alex misses that Michael from when they were kids sometimes. But he also knows that when it comes to Michael and the Evans twins, they’ve always been there for each other, a sort of weird codependency that no one bothered to think about too much or inquire about. He holds out the piece of alien glass to Michael, who silently takes it, and shoves the other piece back in his bag before standing up, ready to make the trek back to the cabin on the outskirts of the town, already dreading the drive at the late hour, but still not regretting any part of their conversation either.

           “I want this. Us.” This is the hardest part of the conversation tonight, and the part that Alex didn’t think he’d want to discuss, but he’s here, and Michael is here and they’re actually talking about _them_ , and Alex doesn’t know if he’ll get another chance so he’s doing the brave thing and taking a step forward. Because he can’t lose Michael, _won’t_ lose Michael. Not again. “It’s not going to be easy but I just needed you to know that.”

            Michael regards him for a moment, the corner of his mouth inching up ever so slightly. “I meant what I said about not looking away.”

            “I know,” Alex replies, not having moved from where he stood up, but also not taking his eyes off Michael. It feels like he’s seventeen again, and he’s watching Michael, hoping that his feelings aren’t one-sided and that this overwhelming need and desire and want isn’t just something he’s feeling right now. He can feel his own breathing pick up slightly as he watches Michael push himself up and off the chair, and close the distance between them.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a lot of this before the episode aired, so Alex doesn't work at the museum/emporium, and their first kiss and first time don't happen the same day. I definitely want to try and continue this, because ugh, these boys have so much they need to talk about.
> 
> Though, in hindsight, this should really be "Alex and Michael Talk About Stuff, Part 1." 
> 
>  
> 
> [Thank you for reading and come find me on Tumblr!](http://jumbled-nonsense.tumblr.com)


End file.
